The smell of vanilla and melted butter filled the kitchen air.I sat on a stool near the counter, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows. My cheeks were dusted with flour. I had learned this recipe in Italy, just for Angelo back then.“The smell is so good,” Angelo chuckled happily, sniffing the air.“I’m almost done, hun,” I said, something flickering in my mind.“This is a huge amount of cookies, Mommy. Are we going to eat all of them?” he asked, his big eyes following the movement of my hands over the oven tray.“No, bebe.” I smiled. “We’ll invite the others to eat with us. What do you think?”“Yay!” he cheered. “Everyone will see how good my mommy is at making cookies.”He spun in circles around me as if he was driving a car. “Their moms can’t make them like you.”I laughed softly. I knew he believed I was the best cook in the world, after Mama of course.“What’s that smell?” I heard Ricardo’s voice behind me.“Just boredom,” I said nonchalantly. “Do you want some?”When I turned, my
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